


First Date

by mutanthairything



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Dancing, First Kiss, M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutanthairything/pseuds/mutanthairything
Summary: Megatron loves Minimus' singing, and asks him to spent some time after work at his office. They try to avoid their feelings.
Relationships: Megatron/Minimus Ambus (Transformers)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	First Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Interstellar_Child](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interstellar_Child/gifts).



> Fic trade for the Minimegs Server. The prompt was "Minimus singing and Megatron admiring him or them dancing together" so I went with a bit of both.

Thankfully, it was a quiet day aboard the _Lost Light_.

Megatron would not sat it matched the standard definition of “quiet” (though neither would he call any period of time with the Decepticons relaxing), but there were minimal grievances between the crew. For some reason, Brainstorm had not built anything dangerous (that high command knew of), which accounted for the majority of the peace. The Scavengers chose to play card games instead of terrorizing the hallways with their shooting game. People were minding their own business.

Compared to most days, it was quiet.

Unsurprisingly, this put high command in a good mood, especially Minimus. He and Megatron were both on deck for their shift, pouring over data logs and reports from the research departments while Blaster and Crankcase kept watch until their next destination. The only sounds heard where the beeps and clicks from datapads and equipment, low voices from the piloting seat, and the occasional muffled music escaping from a mech’s internal audio player. Ratchet had lectured the ship on audial maintenance and the importance of lowering the volume of one’s music, but as expected, a small percentage heeded his advice.

Megatron didn’t mind. The quiet, steady beat provided a pleasant working environment, as undecipherable as the melodies may be. A more helpful motivation for his work sat beside him in a raised chair. Minimus went through every note scrawled in the captain’s log at a steady yet practiced paced. Relaxing work, Megatron could surmise, based on the low humming that resonated from the mech.

He wished he could know what song it was – Earth-based, he supposed – but such questions would wait. The worst thing to do would be to break Minimus out of his peaceful reverie and into the reality where he still sought his own identity. Rarely would he be seen betraying his inner thoughts, singing was flat-out impossible outside of karaoke night, but humming was cozy. It meant he was comfortable with someone overhearing. That he was comfortable with _Megatron_ hearing. He could close his eyes and imagine feeling the vibrations in Minimus’ vocal box, imagine that voice directly in his ear.

“Good to see you’re having fun. Where’s it from?”

The music immediately stopped.

There was no misconduct here, obviously, but Megatron felt that Lockstock deserved some reprimand for daring to put Minimus in the spotlight. The sudden attention had halted his work!

“Earth music band. Queen.” He refused to answer anything more. “Let me continue with my work.”

Lockstock nodded casually and continued on his way to the filing cabinet. Megatron glanced back at Minimus, who had gone silent.

He leaned into the back of his seat and stretched his arms. All of that typing was bad for his wrists; he needed a break. To his left, Minimus continued to diligently sort through spreadsheets, marking topics of note into tables. Despite that interruption, he remained entirely focused on the task.

That was…rather attractive.

To place a hand on Minimus’ back would be terribly forward and inappropriate in a work setting, but a resting it on the chair’s back while leaning over was an innocent gesture. Megatron took no note of the heads turning at their direction.

Minimus noticed the shifting weight of his seat and turned to his right. “Did you find something?”

Megatron fought against the smile creeping onto his face. “No. This is only a quick check-in. How much progress have you made?”

It wasn’t small talk, but it was a safe topic.

Minimus sighed. “I have one more day of logs left, but that does not mean that is all that remains on my task list. It is nothing difficult, however…” he didn’t want to remain here for longer than necessary, but it would seem suspicious that the resident workaholic would prefer to spend his free time outside of the office, and Minimus had grown suspicious of it already. Did the crew notice the change? Was it odd that he visited Swerve’s occasionally? What did they _really_ think of his socialization attempts?

He didn’t realize that he jumped at Megatron’s quiet chuckle.

“I plan to retire to my office shortly after this shift,” he brought up, casually, without any hint of ulterior motive. “If you prefer to work there, we can listen to music together.”

 _Too forward,_ he panicked inwardly. Thankfully, Minimus did not immediately throw himself out of the chair and back into the opposite wall. Rather, he became still and hyperaware of Megatron’s face mere inches from his face. The possibility that he may be this close again in a short hour.

Minimus reset his voice box quietly. “Well. I don’t wish to bother the crew while they’re working.” A pause. “With the music, I mean. But I would rather finish my work before I take part in…a hobby.” He poked at the keyboard to will himself into working again.

Of course, Megatron told himself. Minimus was thoughtful like that, even if it was disappointing. Not that he would ask that Minimus perform solely for his sake. That would be unthinkable.

He hums, very briefly. “Once the crew’s maintenance procedure is complete, we will still have the morning’s reports to review. If we could start work on that instead of leaving it tomorrow…that would be favorable. My office should provide the environment that allows us to concentrate.” He removed his hand from Minimus’ chair and resumed his work. He didn’t have to look to his left to know his partner’s reaction. Rather, he knew there would be little displayed on his face, but if Minimus were to oppose this suggestion, he would immediately speak his mind.

They continued in peaceful silence for the remaining two hours. Minimus caught himself staring at the screen several times.

Megatron left for his office first; his work was done and if Rodimus were the responsible co-captain, he would arrive shortly. Minimus needed the extra time to review his logs anyway.

Everything in Minimus’ office was exactly where it belonged, but Megatron could never imagine keeping his own to an impossible standard as that. Datapads were left where he last read them, a collection of confiscated weapons sat in a box in the corner, little pins remained on the wall map since his last meeting with Rodimus. Such an environment would be counterproductive for after-hours conversation.

He could start by moving his note pads into a single pile, though how recalling their positioning afterwards would be a hassle. Megatron ripped off a few magnetic labels, sketched several notes on the datapads’ contents and reason for their use, and stacked them on the corner. It was a lot of work, this extra layer of organization, but if it helped Minimus perhaps it would help Megatron.

That is, if he felt the need to add notes everywhere again.

Twenty minutes had passed since the time Minimus promised to arrive. Megatron removed a datapad from the pile to read. Thirty minutes had passed. Megatron set it aside and inspected the map again. Fifty minutes had passed.

A knock came from the door. He responded before Minimus could knock again, leaving his hand suspended in the air. “Come in.”

Too desperate.

His second-in-command entered and, to Megatron’s surprise, had his hands folded in front rather than behind.

“Is something the matter?”

His hands zoomed to his sides. “There are no emergencies aboard the ship. That is, none of which we are aware. Regardless, I apologize for keeping you waiting. Red Alert was worried that the Scavengers had stolen a file from his room, so I had to review our records with him. It didn’t take too long,” he added quickly, noticing Megatron’s tired expression. “After all, theft of personal property would have required that we get involved.”

Unfortunately, he could not rush through this task despite how desperately he wanted to leave the deck. That would be so unlike him. This was already so unlike him.

“Anyway,” he approached the desk and played with a loose pen. “It was simply misfiled. That is my reason for being late.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Megatron said with a wave of his hand and stood up, switching the music player on. “Now. Perhaps you’d like to –”

“What is this?” Megatron found Minimus in front of the contraband box with his arms folded in his usual ‘I don’t like what I see here’ stance typically reserved for Misfire. “Who left this here?”

“It’s mine. I have my own plans—” Minimus already started removing swords and science guns and laying them into rows. “I thought we were—”

“You can’t leave everything like this! How can you find what you’re looking for?”

“I understand, but…” It was too late, he supposed, now that Minimus had it in his mind to accomplish something. It did, however, give an excuse for them to spend time together. “Actually, I could use some assistance in organizing my collection. I don’t want Rodimus running in and grabbing a load-bearing item.”

“There shouldn’t _be_ load-bearing items,” Minimus responds, adding a third pile consisting of a whip and a translucent cube that wiggled ominously.

Megatron watched him work for a minute. “How about some music to pass the time?”

Minimus paused his work, remembered that no one else was around to interrupt them, and nodded. “I think I’m in the mood for Tom Jones.” He connected to Megatron’s player (he was given the access code a few weeks ago, when Megatron asked about his favorite songs), and linked up his internal music database.

Some of these guns had no visible safety mechanism, which meant they had to be stored somewhere else in Megatron’s office. Those required a closeable container, but that meant there would be no space in the cabinets for the ridiculously long swords. The floor would have to do. “Do you have any floor mats?”

Megatron swung his head to the closet as violins lead into the first song. Minimus lowered the volume as the brass section joined in. “Yes, what for?”

“I believe we can lay out the larger weapons on the ground until we find storage container large enough for them. Everything here is of a different shape, so it would make sense to find how they can be safely put away before we start dumping them wherever we want.”

It made sense, Megatron agreed. It was a rather large pile in that box, and he’d mostly given up on returning any of its contents to their original owners. “Yes.” He would have added more to that, but the voice of the Earth singer interrupted his thoughts. Well, there was work to do, no time to waste chatting. Taking a few items in his broad arms, he also stopped by the closet for the additional mat.

As he emerged, he heard another voice join in on the singing. Minimus was humming again, more loudly this time. A smile creeped onto his face as he set up his station on the other end of the room, returning regularly to Minimus for the soulful love song to merge into the calming tones of his vocal box. Minimus noticed that Megatron was moving rather slowly as he left him, but he convinced himself it was only because his knee was acting up. That could be the only explanation.

“This chest.” Minimus paused his humming and looked up. Megatron held a small chest, just large enough to hold a minibot, above him. “The guns.”

“Right,” Minimus muttered back and moved aside as Megatron moved one pile of weapons into it. His humming resumed, now with a few words mouthed along with the lyrics.

_But most of all I just wanna hear_

_that wonderful sound "I love you"  
It brings sweet music to my heart  
It's been so long _

_since I heard the sound_

_that wonderful sound_

_"I need you"  
My love, why ever did we part?_

“Minimus?” He jerked, realizing that he was getting loud at the end. Dear Primus, did Megatron pay attention to the lyrics?

“Minimus, what do you think?” He gestured at the box, where the guns laid out neatly.

“Yes. Well done.” He didn’t hear. Why did he have to choose Tom Jones?

Thankfully, that meant that he had no reason to stop singing to himself.

_So when I'm home I just wanna hear_

_that wonderful sound_

_"I love you"_

Megatron returned and took hold of Misfire’s attempt at forging a sword out of scrap aluminum. He carefully set it on the floor mat to avoid obscuring Minimus’ voice. Over the creaking of his arms, he could hear him moving onto the next song. It was apparently about someone whose lover betrayed him, and Minimus was even humming along with the orchestral backup.

_My, my, my Delilah  
Why, why, why Delilah  
I could see, that girl was no good for me  
But I was lost like a slave that no man could free_

How did Minimus not know he had a beautiful and powerful voice? Well, the latter was always true, but that force was present even outside of work. He could sit here on the floor forever, attending this private concert and swaying to the rhythm. He could ask Minimus to stay here for hours. What if they dusted his office instead of reviewing reports?

Or that would scare him off, and Minimus would never agree to visit his office again. With a grunt, he approached Minimus once the music stopped.

“It’s a rather tragic song.”

“Well, not all romances end well.” Though he was certain that very few failed relationships resulted in murder. “There’s something…” Minimus fidgeted with a crank. “cathartic singing this. If anything, it’s as if I am understanding the experiences that I have never gone through and likely never will.” Music felt like a dream. That might be why so many songs were written about love.

He had gotten quiet and let the music play. It was awkward to hear someone _comment_ on his singing regardless of who it was, through it was awkward for Megatron to say so for a different reason.

“I like it. You have a good harmonizing voice.”

And now it’s even worse. Minimus disassembled one of the guns with his face incredibly close to the weapon, letting Tom Jone’s wails over Delilah drown any other thoughts.

“What I mean is-“ Megatron stuttered, “-You are a good singer. I enjoy your singing.” Minimus’ silence worried him. “I did not mean to bring attention to your voice. It’s pleasant to hear.”

The music changed to a song that Megatron and the rest of the crew recognized, though not by choice. Swerve’s prank at recent parties had left them associating it with painful memories, but if Minimus’ pride was to be salvaged, Megatron needed to take action.

He used to sing, as a miner. Songs reminded the workers in the dark that they remained sentient beings, and work songs saved their mental health from collapsing earlier than it could. They knew they were not alone in the dark. Gladiators didn’t sing. Warlords didn’t sing. It was the common soldier, those who had little control over their fates, that sang.

Which was to say that Megatron was out of practice and did not realize until he stumbled through the chorus of “What’s Up Pussycat” that he had purged most of the song from his memory banks.

_Pussycat, pussycat_

_I’ve got…flowers_

_Er…hours_

_…you…_

A horrible noise escaped from Minimus and he fell onto one arm, laughing. Megatron shut off the music player.

“I did my best, Minimus.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, you have a lovely voice, but—” He rubbed his eyes. “I shouldn’t be laughing,” he added with smiling eyes. If Megatron weren’t so embarrassed he would be memorizing this rare expression.

“This is why I leave the singing to you, understand?” He supported Minimus’ arm and pulled him up, keeping a firm grip as he spoke. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.” 

Minimus leaned into Megatron’s hand with a sigh. “Of course not. This isn’t relevant to their duties.” He looked up and shrugged. “What do we say we put on some more music.”

“Only if you promise to sing before I have to fill in.”

They sat there for a few seconds, enjoying the playlist and doing nothing else. The pile of contraband was already gone with a few weapons left on the floor. Minimus took the weapons from his ‘miscellaneous’ row and returned them to the original box. Megatron stood, removing his hand from Minimus’ side, and took the remaining weapons.

“You said you wished to review the reports, right?”

“That can wait.” Minimus wouldn’t be able to concentrate on singing if he had to. “How about another song, to make up for my prior attempt?”

“Are you fine with another love song?”

They were alone. No one was around to comment on the turn of events.

“I don’t mind.”

Then he would have to choose something different. Something with a more positive story. He skipped a few songs to find something slower.

 _Promise me you will wait for me_  
_One day soon I'll come back_  
And I'll stay forever more  
Wait for me, say you'll wait for me

There was nothing left to work on. Minimus swayed as he stood watching at any corner of the room that didn’t contain Megatron. There was no chance that he was fine with this. It was unprofessional. Friends usually didn’t sing love songs in private, didn’t they? Minimus wished he knew how this worked. Perhaps Megatron didn’t care, or perhaps he _wanted_ to hear such sentiments from Minimus. Perhaps his reading of their interactions was correct, and this wasn’t an entirely platonic visitation. Perhaps –

He did not notice Megatron approach him. “Minimus? Are you alright?”

Minimus cursed inwardly, realizing that his singing had faltered. “Yes. Well. I am. But.” He found the courage to look upward, right at Megatron’s soft face. It was a terrible position to be in. This couldn’t go on longer. “I was thinking.” Obviously, he’s always thinking. “I’m more of a dancer than a singer.”

Of course, the latter was more forgivable to perform in public. It was easier to hide. Unless Megatron asked that he danced instead, they could forget this happened and do actual work.

“Dancing sounds easier than singing, in this case. I could join in this time.”

Minimus wanted to look away and hide somewhere, but he found that he was unable to move. “Alright.” What kind of dance? Separately, mimicking each other’s movements? Together? Oh, if only he could figure out Megatron’s intentions!

He gripped Megatron’s palm and pulled him away from the wall. Megatron did not let go. This was a risky move, but the music was taking over the logic portion of his processes. He took Megatron’s other hand, facing each other, though he refused to look upward.

“We don’t have much space, so let’s start with something easy. Do you have much experiencing dancing?”

Megatron hummed and squeezed Minimus’ hands. “Not like this, but I have a decent sense of balance.”

“That’s good enough. Now, you should follow me and we’ll move on from there.”

Walking in time with the music was simple enough, just swaying together from one end of the room and gripping each other at a distance. Megatron had no difficulty keeping up with Minimus, especially when he could make longer strides, though at points it felt as if he could accidentally sweep him off of his feet. Minimus moved his left hand up to his wrist, and Megatron slid his to his shoulder. The temperature of the room had suddenly increased, but at least they had more control over their movements.

“This is getting ridiculous. I’ll mass displace.”

Minimus let go, and the two found themselves standing eye to eye.

Megatron made the first move. He held one of Minimus’ hands and with the other, returned it to his shoulder, daring to test the waters. Either they were going to do this or not.

There was no other place to rest his free hand, Minimus told himself, other than Megatron’s waist. They were pressing against each other.

“I thought you detested hugs.”

“This is dancing.”

“We are not moving; this is hugging.” Minimus turned, leading Megatron in a circle. His optics widened at the sudden movement, but the strange power Minimus had over him stopped him from protesting. “ _This_ is dancing.”

They continued slowly walking around Megatron’s office for another song, taking small steps to the beat and eventually growing bolder once they found their footing. The playlist moved onto other artists, to other songs, and still neither wanted to tell the other to stop.

Megatron moved his hand onto Minimus’ back and wondered if this was how hugging felt. He’d have to use his other arm, but it was currently occupied at the moment. In response, Minimus slipped his arm entirely around Megatron’s back and until they were pressed against each other.

There was no where else to put their faces, they told themselves, when their lips met. No longer moving across the floor and no longer lost in their own thoughts. They could stand here forever.

Minimus’ hand slipped, jerking him out of his reverie. “I apologize! I didn’t mean to—I mean—”

“You did that, too?” Megatron sighed in relief and loosened his grip. “Thank goodness.” He rubbed his fingers on his lower lip where he could still feel the force of Minimus’ kiss. That mech really was strong in many kinds of ways.

They watched each other, waiting for them to make the next move.

“We aren’t going to tell anyone about this.”

“Of course not. No one should suspect a thing.”

“Would you…like to continue dancing?” Their hands were already entwined.

“We could use the practice.” Their bodies were pressed against each other once more, though leaving enough room so that they could keep themselves from kissing immediately. “With other things as well.”


End file.
